Blod was a gay festival indeed
Our Thegn slaughtered the Ox, and the Valley’s protection was renewed.
Fine feasting followed – beer foaming from every horn
Red meat served on the bone, and blood-sausage piled high on every platter
Two weeks long we feasted.
A Sweon scop played music in our Hall
Flirting and Flighting
Lo ! There was much rejoicing.
The Sweon doubted my aim could take a crow in flight
Bow bent
Arrow True
One shot proved my boast.
Too long in sloth – we slumbered in a sea of ale
Wistan rode the Night Mare
and ran into the snow skyclad
we found him freezing in the shepherd’s hut.
Time to stretch our limbs
In the morning sun we ride through fresh snow
and see the Sweon safely through the Valley
Southwards from Gefyndene.
Wandering far for hunting, we heard word of Aurochs
In the Western wild-wood, the first for many years.
We found them there thrice as wide and twice as long
Just as the stories told.
Full four dozen shook the ground
Trampling through the snow
Wistan danced with death
as the Aurochs thundered by.
A horde of Pukels hunted the Aurochs and their Herdsmen
Both hounds and Humfrith hard-pressed
Full three dozen Pukelmen, with spear and seax
Challenge enough for three Geats.
Skulls were split by Osgar’s axe
and Wistan’s spear stabbed deep
Wreaking Red Ruin
But still the Pukels come, so I bent my bow.
A dozen times I loosed my flight
Full dozen arrows find their mark
My winter iron gnaws their guts
Harder than hunger.
Never have I shot so true
My luck flows strong for silver thanks given- Lytleman for Aye !
Horns Blare – now the Pukel host rallies
The forest swarms with wights eager for revenge.
A foe’s foe is friend in need
So a truce with our great Battle-Guests
Humfrith made welcome
Tall tales no more, they walk in the Valley.